In the Shadow of the Moon
by Statyck
Summary: In which an elf and an orc are trying to navigate societal norms and a mad stalker.
1. Chapter 1

**Here I am, starting yet another new story when I still have like 10 to finish. I ought to be working on Illidari, but in the interim have a semi-cute story about an elf and an orc. **

**-Statyck**

**/*\**

Thrakka had no idea what Dar'thul saw in that tiny little elf girl.

No that was a lie. She knew exactly what he saw in her, and it was unfair to take her anger out on the woman. Thrakka understood that the pair related well because they both used magic. Dark magic, to be precise. Her brother could wield a sword as well as any other man in their clan, but the arcane fascinated him to no end. That was okay, even if it sometimes frightened her. In the days of the Iron Horde, magic was vital. Especially for the Shadowmoon, even if that magic was dark and corrupt in nature. It was only natural that there would be those who clung to it, who wanted to keep it not only as a part of their history but as a part of their arsenal against their enemies. First Yrel and her followers on Draenor, and then their new enemies on Azeroth. It made sense to keep the power of the void close. But then there was that damned elf. _No Thrakka, _she thought, _don't say that. It's not fair._

Now, Thrakka didn't dislike the elf. That wasn't it at all. In fact, she considered Veralia to be a good friend. She was a ferocious magic-wielder in her own right. Thrakka had gone on missions with Veralia. Though she had been immensely skeptical of the tiny woman at first, she had come to see Veralia's might first-hand. She was clever, knowledgeable. She was relentlessly kind. She was essentially a walking encyclopedia and she'd know the answer to almost any question anyone could ask her. Her power was such that she could force multitudes of demonic thralls to obey her every command and rain hellfire down on their enemies. Veralia's power was damn near unmatched.

But that was the thing. She did well in serious battle. Veralia had killed plenty of Alliance lackeys, demons, murlocs even. She had never hesitated to draw the line in the sand when someone made a dishonorable request of her. She had ended one of their own commanders after finding evidence of treason. She had defended her party and her people successfully on multiple occasions. She had saved Thrakka's life more times than the orc was willing to admit, but that was where Veralia's ferocity ended. In friendly territory she was so anti-social. She didn't react well to confrontation, and she had lost more than one friendly battle because she didn't want to hurt any of her allies. She was too soft, through no real fault of her own. While it wasn't that Thrakka thought Veralia to be unworthy, the fact of the matter was that the elf was an elf. She was not an orc.

Yet Dar'thul didn't seem to care. Though he was easily twice her size and could break her with his bare hands, he selfishly paid no mind to the danger. Though she was his sister, Thrakka knew he wasn't an undesirable orc. He was a minor champion among the Mag'har. He didn't turn to magic because of any kind of physical deformity. He wasn't stunted, nor was his musculature atrophied in any way. He kept himself well-groomed and his tusks were sharp, symmetrical, and ever white. He was fast, agile, smart, and he was good with magic. He ticked off all the boxes for any woman, especially the orcish women. When Thrakka found him in cities he was almost always surrounded by pretty girls – orcish and otherwise – wanting a piece of him. As plenty of fit and capable orcish – even troll or tauren – women vied for his attention he only had eyes for a creature so physically weak that she could only be a liability. As much as Thrakka wanted to support her brother in his romance, as much as she wanted to support her friend's happiness, there was no way it would ever work. Veralia was powerful in the arcane. She was a devious swordswoman. She could devise traps and plans and dispel the immense charms that sometimes stood in their way. She had so many admirable qualities, but she simply was not brutishly strong in the way that would eventually come to matter if the relationship continued.

As Thrakka watched the two sit together at a table in the tavern, this was all she could think about. She respected Veralia greatly, and she loved her brother, but she couldn't go along with this. When she thought about the two of them together, she couldn't imagine a mating ceremony or an elven wedding. Not anymore. The only future she foresaw for them ended in one form of tragedy or another. She saw the forced gentleness that Dar'thul had to use when he touched her. She knew that Veralia lied about the bruises on her arms and even sometimes her waist. Thrakka had no idea what she was supposed to do about it. As she pushed her dark braid aside, swerving away from a drunken goblin and watching the pair from her perch on the second floor, she felt an immense wave of shame and guilt crash into her.

It was her fault that they had ever even met.

/*\

Dar'thul knew his sister was there. He knew that she was trying to figure out how to separate him from Veralia, because for whatever reason she had decided that she didn't approve of the relationship anymore. Every time he was with the elf, he could feel his sister watching. Waiting for the perfect time to strike. He genuinely wasn't sure if Veralia could tell. More than once she had proven to be immensely observant. He knew that playing at obliviousness was a tactic of hers, but if she truly hadn't noticed Thrakka's predatory spying he didn't want to worry her with it.

He had grown accustomed to putting on a fake smile for her in recent days. He truly enjoyed sitting in the overloud tavern with her, listening to her chatter away about whatever new book she'd read or whatever new piece of research she had progressed with. In a world that suffered as much as Azeroth, her abject happiness was a welcome reprieve. He didn't even mind the demon that accompanied her all the time, a little imp that would fetch her food or water or whatever else she required without even being commanded. It was what initially drew him to her. She was just so damn _excited _about almost everything. Her positivity was enough to help drive the voices in his mind elsewhere. Someplace where they couldn't harm anyone.

Tonight though, tonight was unusual. She had been rather quiet. While he kept his ears on Thrakka prowling around on the upper level of the tavern, his eyes watched Veralia. She sipped at her wine slowly, carefully. As though she was being careful not to drink too much. Then she did something he'd never seen her do before. Not in public at least. She pulled at the end of her taught red braid and she unwove it, allowing her lengthy hair to fall in waves around her shoulders. She sighed and planted her face on the table, her pointed ears sticking comically upward. Dar'thul felt his brows knit.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as softly as possible. The elf looked up at him, a disgruntled look on her face. When she spoke, she practically growled. He had once remarked that the sound wasn't that dissimilar from a young wolf pup playing with her siblings. A comment she had nearly set him on fire for.

"Your sister is driving me mad." She hissed. Immediately Thrakka's footsteps stopped, and Dar'thul had to hide the smile that threatened to spread across his face. Well, that was one less thing for him to worry about. He should have never questioned his lover's observational skills. Silently he fished a quill and some paper out of his satchel, scribbling a small note before passing it over.

_Do you want to get out of here?_

Veralia nodded, a desperate glimmer in her emerald eyes. Dar'thul waved at the barkeep, writing something else down. The troll took one look at the note, chuckled, and nodded his head. Dar'thul dropped several gold coins in his hand, and the Darkspear approached one of the Zandalari men who had begun to frequent the place. Veralia stared at him inquisitively as the Zandalari raised an eyebrow at the barkeep. Dar'thul listened as the troll asked if it was a prank. The barkeep assured him it was not. He consulted with his friends, shrugged, and headed up the stairs.

_Wait for it. _He wrote.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE, TROLL?" A familiar voice screamed. As the fight broke out and Thrakka defended her honor, Dar'thul took the opportunity to grab Veralia's hand and they calmly walked out of the tavern.

/*\

Veralia had been distracted all night. She knew she hadn't exactly been subtle about it. She liked Dar'thul so much. Though elves didn't typically find orcs attractive and vice versa, Dar'thul had many appealing qualities. His face was nice to look at, with his high cheekbones and sharp jaw. His brown hair was long and well groomed, though he rarely tied it up. When she looked at him in the tavern that night her attention had been immediately caught by the silver ring in his septum. The silver ring she had gotten for him.

When he escorted her home after Thrakka's unwelcome intrusion she kept finding moments to tell him about what had been bothering her, and then telling herself it wasn't a good time. She'd think to herself that he looked happy and she didn't want to worry him. Or that those people sharing the road were too close and would overhear. Then it was that it was too late in the night and she'd be better off waiting until tomorrow.

She was terrible at hiding things like this, and though she felt a little bad about using Thrakka as her scapegoat she really had been driving Veralia insane. She wasn't sure what Thrakka's problem was. She had tried to talk to the orc about it several times, with no results. Thrakka was getting more and more involved in her and Dar'thul's relationship and Veralia wasn't impressed with the scrutiny.

She ascended to the second floor of her house, one of the few that hadn't yet been abandoned out in the countryside. It had never occurred to her until that very morning just how alone and exposed she was. She was a woman living by herself in the middle of nowhere, her closest neighbor being just a little more than five kilometers away. It had never occurred to her that someone could come to her house without anyone noticing, without anyone hearing. She had been so very lucky that she hadn't been home when the intruder came.

She had been sure to offer Kro'gash a nice deer bone before he departed with his master. As Dar'thul rode his wolf down the road, she stared after him. She waved through her window, waiting. She made sure he had disappeared into the trees before she refocused her attention. Her bedroom didn't look much different from before, but it was her space. She knew where she'd left certain things, and she knew that they weren't where they were supposed to be.

For example, the dress on her bed had been hung up in the back of her closet. It was a nice dress made of black embersilk, with hand-done gold beading. It was a garment she never wore because it reminded her of something painful. A book, too. A silly little romance novel that had been given to her by someone she wished she could forget. A necklace had been meticulously fished out of her jewelry box, no longer buried between other jewels and metals and instead sitting right in the middle of her pillow.

The most incriminating thing was the letter. The letter that she had yet to touch. She knew who it was from, and that information alone terrified her to no end. She hadn't seen Redoran in so long. The void-tainted parchment on her bed was a testament to how much things had changed in the last three years. Her wards spoke of no resistance, they were all perfectly intact. None of her things were missing or misplaced, only the dress, the book, and the necklace. Those things had caught her attention. She'd have never had any confirmation about who the intruder was if not for that letter, the handwriting scrawled in an all too familiar mess.

If he hadn't wanted her to know he could get in, she never would have. If his aim was to absolutely terrify her then he was succeeding. At the very least he was making it abundantly clear that he could get into her home without her noticing, and it only made her more reluctant to open that letter. She'd found it that morning, when she returned from the inn in Silvermoon horrifically hungover. She had been so lucky that the bartender deemed her too intoxicated to make her way back so late at night.

Her hand shaking, Veralia picked up the letter. The void stains stung her fingers. She swallowed hard and pried the letter from its envelope.

It took mere moments for a small army of demons to surround the tiny house.

/*\

After Thrakka had effectively punted the troll back down to the first level, she realized something. The couple was gone. She swore to herself and ran out the door, hoping she'd be able to track one of their scents before they could get too far away. Nothing. Dar'thul had vanished, and Veralia with him. She snarled some curses to herself and turned back to the tavern.

Surely the elf knew what danger she was in. Surely, she wouldn't allow anything to go too far, not tonight at least. Thrakka could feel her face contort as she asked the bartender for a drink. The anxiety was going to kill her. She knew that if Dar'thul hurt her, he'd never forgive himself. Hell, Thrakka would live with the guilt for the rest of her natural life. As she let the stinging alcohol sink down her gullet she wallowed in her misery.

She had searched through the visions. She had so many dreams about her brother and her friend. She hoped so much that she could divine something good, something positive, but what she got could only be construed as warnings from her ancestors. No matter how many times she searched for an alternate timeline, no matter how much she searched for corrupted magic influencing her sight, the dream always ended the same.

There were orcs who had the self-restraint to take elves to bed, some fathering and giving birth to half-elf children. Initially that was the future Thrakka had anticipated for the pair. They had grown so close so quickly. She had been ready to welcome biracial nieces and nephews the moment they were announced, there were times when she thought it would be any day it happened. And then the visions came, and they made one truth abundantly clear. Dar'thul simply wasn't capable. He didn't have the restraint necessary.

The dream always started out pleasantly enough. Thrakka would simply watch the pair walk in the woods together, or they'd be in Durotar. The setting shifted often, and they seemed happy. The world itself looked beyond perfect, with a full moon and seas of stars lighting the dark sky. Then the dream would shift. Always they were in Veralia's bed. Always Dar'thul would lose control. One night he'd crush her beneath his weight. Another, he'd sink his teeth into her throat. In others he broke her spine with only one hand. With each passing dream the visions got more and more violent, and not once did Veralia ever fight back.

It got so bad that Thrakka would go days at a time without sleeping. She couldn't watch her friend die at her brother's hands like that anymore. A death as painful as it was undignified. As she let a third pint of ale work its way through her system, a hand clapped on her shoulder. She hoped that no fingers would stain her new shirt.

"So, you've been rather clingy lately sister." Dar'thul remarked. "Can I ask what's going on?"

Dar'thul sounded so much like their father sometimes. All it took was the darkened tone in his voice to make her want to roll her eyes. Thrakka sighed, letting her face fall into her hands. This was a horrible situation, she was drunk, and the world was beginning to spin a little. As much as the other races liked to joke that orcs could drink their weight in booze, she was something of a lightweight.

Thrakka didn't know if it would be the right thing to tell him. She didn't know if he'd take her seriously. She didn't want him to accuse her of trying to sabotage him, which given how reactionary he could be was an all too real possibility. All his question recalled was the time their father told him he couldn't have a dire wolf pup. He'd stolen one from the breeder at the market and took it home anyhow. That was the first of such incidents, when he didn't take kindly to a hard truth. She knew that Dar'thul had grown since then, but that impulsiveness, that sheer sense of privilege. He wasn't used to being told no, and if Thrakka told him he couldn't have Veralia….

He might even go to Veralia tonight just to spite Thrakka. She wanted to think he wouldn't do that, but it was still a risk she wasn't willing to take. The world started spinning even more.

"I've just been having some awful visions." She said. Technically not a lie. "I can't sleep."

Dar'thul's laughter was as relieving as it was infuriating. It was good that he believed her. It pissed her off that he found her insomnia amusing.

"So, coming to your big brother because of some nightmares?" He lilted, but then he grew serious, "Thrakka, what are these dreams about?"

"I think they're warnings." She answered vaguely. "They get more and more violent each night. I'm…unsettled. To put it lightly." She admitted through gritted teeth.

"Maybe it will help if you give me some details?" Dar'thul pried. Thrakka said nothing. Her brother sighed. "Well I can't just let you stay here getting wasted out of your mind. Maybe I should get you back home."

Without even asking, Dar'thul hauled her up out of her seat and began the journey back to her little house on Razor Hill. Despite her protests that she didn't want to go back, Dar'thul trod on anyway.

The nightmares were somehow worse when she was in the house.

/*\

Dar'thul couldn't seem to get to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about the immensely strange turn the night had taken.

He had never seen Veralia behave that way. They had only been together a few months, but this was a new and somewhat alarming facet of her personality. The walk back to her home had been distressing, to say the least.

She had never acted with such obliviousness before. Once they got through the portal back into Silvermoon it was as though her mind had gone completely elsewhere. She hadn't noticed but he'd had to steer her around odd holes in the road. He'd had to stop her from veering off the path a few times, her fluffy hawkstrider getting more and more flustered. Finally, he'd simply had her ride with him on Kro'gash, under the excuse that he just wanted to be closer to her. Her smile hadn't reached her eyes. Somehow, she hadn't picked up on the fact that he was helping her, deciding their direction. She was not one to relinquish control that way, not that easily. Something was deeply wrong. She wasn't telling him what it was, but there was no way it was just Thrakka. He wasn't sure if she was always like that when she got too stressed, but it seemed strange that his sister would evoke this kind of reaction from her.

Veralia loved his sister. He knew how the two of them had met. Neither one of them recalled Northrend fondly, but they had done well keeping an eye on the scourge while the war in Zandalar and Kul'tiras raged. They had done many outpost missions like that together, maintaining the order and the peace. They had grown close enough that Thrakka had introduced her to him, a fact he would ever be grateful for. But Thrakka had been behaving strangely as well. She had never declined to tell him the details of her visions. Ever. Especially when they were bad.

_Could it have something to do with me? _He wondered. _No, no, no, that's not possible. I'd never do anything to hurt her. _

No, it had to be something else. Was she seeing him die? Perhaps she was watching a close friend die? He'd heard that the clerics of Uldum and Pandaria had been having nightmares. Nightmares of their societies falling and the world burning to ash. Perhaps that's what was wrong with Thrakka. The Old Ones were trying to invade her mind. She was too new to Azeroth and the Horde to trick with the world doom vision, so it was going after the people she loved. It would make sense for N'zoth to do this to their shamans. Their druids and clerics too. N'zoth would have a vested interest in keeping them on edge, to demoralize the Horde and its forces. That was it. That had to be it.

He got up out of bed, the full moon shining through his little window. He closed the bedroom door and pushed his way into another area of the house. Thrakka made no secret of her uneasiness with his workspace. It seemed like a normal enough room, if a bit empty. There was virtually no furniture in the summoning room. There was an elaborate pattern of purple runes on the ground. There were multiple weapons adorning the wall next to the door. Otherwise there was a simple small desk sitting under a mounted axe. Each drawer was locked, and as Dar'thul extracted the necessary supplies all he could think about was Thrakka's horrified face the first time he'd shown her this room.

Naturally, the void scared her. There were plenty of Shadowmoon orcs who wanted nothing to do with the magic of the Dark Star, but there were others who acknowledged its importance and usefulness. He was of the latter opinion, even if it was somewhat unpopular.

He took his sword down off the wall, preparing for something nasty to come out of the portal he going to summon. The runes on the ground glowed. He wasn't strong enough to force the portal to do what he wanted, not immediately anyhow.

For hours void horrors swarmed the room, none managing to get past the locked and warded door into the rest of his house and Azeroth. Bodies accumulated. Some remained whole. Others dissolved into vile puddles made of darkness. All bore the result he wanted.

Once he had one hundred horrors dead on his floor, he closed the portal. He tossed his sword aside and gave himself a moment to catch his breath. That had been a lot of work. Too much work. But his sister was worth it.

He downed a mana potion and pulled the energy out of each nearly incorporeal body. His mind felt hazy. He wasn't sure what incantation he used. He couldn't remember which mana crystal he selected. All he knew was that he'd done it. Just as dawn broke over the horizon, a void crystal sat in his hands. If his theory was correct, this just might help him make Thrakka's nightmares go away.

If she had peace of mind, then she'd stop stalking him so closely. If she stopped stalking him, then maybe Veralia would feel more at ease during their time together. Maybe she would tell him the truth about what was going on.

/*\

Veralia did not sleep.

She spent the night lighting every lamp she owned, taking every candle she owned out of the crate on the lower level. She did not let a single shadow permeate her home, and even with ten wrathguards surrounding her house and multiple imps keeping watch indoors, she still felt uneasy. Every shadow seemed to move. Every few moments she thought she saw a tall figure move in the corner of her eye, disappearing into whatever shadow she hadn't vanquished. She'd taken her misplaced belongings and threw them into the bottom of her armoire, uncaring if they were damaged. She crawled into the bed, letting her back hit the wall.

The imps assured her that they would not let anything get past, but she knew better. They knew how much stronger she was than them, how much more powerful. They knew that whatever had her terrified, it would surely end them. Redoran had never been especially aggressive with her, but she'd watched him go down this path. She'd watched as he decided that the void was a reasonable power to wield, to infuse himself with. Despite her protests he argued that it was no different than her fascination with the fel. It absolutely was different, but he wouldn't hear her.

Finally, he'd vanished off the face of the earth. Much to the dismay of her mother, they hadn't heard from him again after that day three years ago and now her worst fear had been confirmed. He wasn't dead. He had simply joined the Ren'dorei. He was a traitor to his people, and if he had remembered her and gone this far to contact her, she could only imagine what he intended to do.

It was this panicked dialogue in her mind that eventually lulled her to sleep. She had tired herself out, both mentally and physically. As she curled up in her bed, the fog in her mind taking over, she could have sworn that she spied a pair of eyes looking at her. She squeezed her own eyes shut and told herself it was just one of the imps. It was just an imp checking in on her, as she had instructed it to do. Besides, even though she knew it was a lie she was too tired to care.

No imp she'd ever summoned had violet eyes.

Regardless, the morning after was a relief. The imps were still there, as were all the wrathguards. Each demon reported that they'd seen nothing, the night had been quiet and there had been no disturbances as far as they could tell. For a moment, Veralia wondered if she had overreacted. Clearly Redoran was trying to scare her, and he had most certainly succeeded. Just the thought of that letter in her room made the bile rise in her throat. Shame and resignation welled up in her chest. He'd probably gotten a kick out of that prank. He was likely in Stormwind laughing his ass off at the woman he claimed to have once loved. She descended the ramp to the lower level of her house, berating herself all the way. How could she have been so stupid?

It took her a moment. As she tried to wake herself up and convince herself to shower, she plucked a mug from the cupboard. She filled the kettle with clean water and set it atop her little stove. Everything was fine. Redoran just wanted the last word, like the petty brat he was. That was it. That had to be it. As she poured the tea over the leaves and watched the steam waft up in the air, she did everything she could to calm herself down. It wouldn't help her to be stuck in a perpetual state of panic. Besides, the last time she saw him she'd defeated him. It might have been three years ago, but it wasn't as though she'd allowed herself to go soft. She had kept herself well-practiced. She had maintained her research, and she continued to exercise the power she held over the demons in the rifts she'd managed to access.

Everything was fine. Even with the power of the void there was no way that Redoran would ever be able to pull off his threat. He would still need help from at least two other people to catch her, especially now that he'd made her aware of his presence. Though Alleria Windrunner had chosen to tamper with the void and chosen the Alliance over her own people, she would not be so foolish as to let a rogue void elf pull off something like this. It was simply too risky, and she knew that Quel'thalas had enough animosity for her and her students as it was. To do what Redoran proposed would force the Alliance's had. If the High King found out they were kidnapping sin'dorei civilians, there would be hell for them to pay. Though the void was infamous for driving its users mad, Alleria wasn't that far gone yet. She sighed and took a sip of her tea. She turned, and she realized that she'd overlooked something extremely important.

She had a single little dining table. It only had two chairs, as generally it was only her and maybe one rare guest in her house. The table was usually quite neatly cleared off when it wasn't time to eat. This time of day, when she'd only just woken up, there would be no reason for anything to be on this table. Yet, there it was.

A single envelope rested on the table. The parchment glowed a familiar shade of blue, and it took every ounce of Veralia's self-control not to drop her teacup and scream. The demons would not have done this. She had forced them to remain at their posts all night long. The letter from her bedroom was still in the drawer, she had just looked at it.

Unlike the previous letter, this one had a fancy wax seal. Redoran's family crest. She didn't touch it. She refused to touch it. Instead she turned away from it.

She had been considering moving to the city. There were plenty of little townhouses in Silvermoon. As much as she didn't like the clutter of the city, she could not let Redoran torment her like this. She thought back to that odd little sighting last night. The violet eyes in the shadows. Her terror gave way to rage. The mug cracked in her grip, steaming tea leaking through to the floor. If he wanted to stalk and scare her, he would have to try harder. Much harder.

**/*\**

**Well that was fun. **

**-Statyck**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hmm…**

**-Statyck**

**/*\**

Veralia had all her things packed.

She couldn't believe that she'd managed to pull it all off in less than a week. She just couldn't take it anymore. She'd taken down the mirrors first, because she knew that she'd hate what she saw when she looked in them. She had to look positively awful. She hadn't slept at all in that time. She's finally sprung on a room at the inn when she couldn't take it anymore, only to have to travel the twenty kilometers back home to continue her packing. Her friend in the tavern had seemed concerned.

"Where is your orc friend?" Dahlia asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. Veralia had just left the room, the plain bed and its little bookcase entirely immaculate and as she found it. The bar had been dark, and because it was morning she was entirely alone with her friend.

"He's not here." Veralia said, shoveling rations into the small pack she'd brought with her. "I just needed a place to stay for the night. I have most of my stuff in boxes and realized I accidentally packed up all my bedding. I couldn't find which crate I'd stuffed it all in." She lied smoothly, faking an embarrassed smile.

It was clear that Dahlia didn't believe her. She wasn't one who took kindly to lies either, but Veralia couldn't afford to tell the truth. Redoran had been a difficult man in many ways. If he found out that she had told someone of his return, she had no idea what he would do. Three years ago, he'd have never presumed to enter her house uninvited. He'd have never rifled through her things and then left threatening letters. Though he'd been on that path, he hadn't been completely maddened by the void.

As far as she was concerned, telling Dahlia would be nothing short of killing her. She couldn't afford to hope for the best. Redoran had, it seemed, gone insane. There was no telling what he'd do if she tried to acquire allies. That was fine. She hadn't needed allies the first time around.

Her return home was not momentous in any shape of the word. The place was completely disorganized. She was, for a moment, glad there was only one room on the second level. She sighed. She'd rented a small wagon from the city to help her move into her new house. She'd gotten lucky. She'd managed to get a significantly bigger place in Silvermoon, and to make it better she'd found someone to rent out _this _house to.

As she decided what order to do the rooms in, she thought about her new tenants. There had been a young couple from the city looking for a decent honeymoon retreat. Apparently, their plan to go to Kalimdor for a year had fallen through. She didn't know the details, but they needed a new spot. They had been especially intrigued by the notion of being completely alone in the country. She wasn't especially worried that Redoran would go after them. Once he realized she'd vacated the space, he'd completely lose interest and pursue her elsewhere. She didn't think he'd go after them. At the very least, that's what she hoped for.

They were set to arrive tomorrow, and as Veralia glared at the sea of boxes in the tiny little house, she couldn't help but grumble to herself. She downed a mana potion and levitated as many as she could into the cart. It didn't take long, but she was entirely spent. She could feel the soreness in her muscles as the mana drained from her body. She could feel herself growing short of breath, the walls almost seeming to close in around her as she collapsed to the floor exhausted. She almost felt dizzy.

This would be a perfect time for Redoran to attack, but it was the middle of the day. Though the trees cast many shadows around the small courtyard, they weren't big enough for a newly transformed void elf to hide in. With any luck, she'd be entirely moved out by the time they grew. But then, since that night she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. It was like he'd simply vanished. Maybe it really had been a prank. Maybe he was finished, but those _letters_. They had been nothing short of volatile. She sat up and glared at the cart. Now she had to get behind the reigns and drive all the way back to Silvermoon, only to unload all her crap and cycle back to the house. She appraised the number of boxes left.

She wasn't sure she could make three more round trips before dark, but damn it she needed out. Besides, the new house in Silvermoon was rather nice. She had been wanting a bigger bed for a while.

/*\

Dar'thul wasn't sure if it had worked. Thrakka had been quiet for the last four days. In fact, she'd slept for almost an entire day, at twenty hours. When she'd woken, she said she felt well-rested and assured him that no nightmares had plagued her. Yet still there was a troubled guise to her face, dark circles beneath her eyes.

_But then, _he thought, _she might just need time to recover. _

Thrakka's behavior was less troubling. She was hanging around less, going off to do her own thing. After he performed the spell with the crystal, it was like a switch had flipped. It was something of a relief. He was glad to see the change. She was taking better care of herself in the last few days than she had in the past two months. She had started putting effort into her appearance again. She had returned to filing the points on her tusks to perfect sharpness, even interchanging the rings on them to match her outfits. She had polished an old set of armor she hadn't touched in almost a month. Instead of balling it up into a ratty braid, she had started to brush her long brown hair again. She had even asked Dar'thul's help with that. She'd been worried she'd ruined it beyond repair. Her dark skin had regained some luster, and her stress had dropped significantly. It made Dar'thul feel better to see that she was returning to normal.

Yet that left him with another problem. Though Thrakka was free of the nightmares, that didn't solve everything. She had made the strangest request of him.

He had been standing in her house shortly after he helped her fix her hair. She had returned to wearing the colorful robes she favored, a vibrant shade of blue. She'd exchanged her gold tusk rings for silver ones and had set silver clips in her hair. It was very nice to see her look normal again.

"Brother," her voice had been soft, "I cannot tell you the details of my vision, but I would like to ask that you stay in town for the next several days." She said. "It would give me peace of mind."

"Of course," he said, "I will stay for as much of that time as I am able. It's possible that I could get called back to Uldum or Pandaria soon, but I want to make sure you're alright."

She had given him a satisfied smile and retreated into her home. She had a small scrying fountain in the corner that made an unrelenting amount of noise, and he realized the extent of the promise he just made. He could feel the change in the air, the shift that seemed to make him almost dizzy. He swore he could almost see a spark in that fountain, and his eyes widened in realization. Thrakka had every intention of holding him to his promise. Her magic could hold him all the way up until he got sent back out into war, and unless Veralia decided to pay a visit, he wasn't going to see her again. Not until Thrakka saw fit to release her spell.

He'd managed to fix Thrakka's problem, but there was still something going on with the elf. If he got sent back away to fight before his promise to Thrakka ended, he wasn't going to see Veralia again for a good long while. Her carelessness the other night had been distressing. If it persisted, she would get hurt. Even in Silvermoon where virtually all the elves had fed on the fel to stay alive, there were still people who did not like the warlocks.

It would be far too easy for someone to get her if she remained in that distracted state, and he couldn't let that happen. Yet now that he had made that promise to Thrakka, he was bound to Razor Hill for the next several days at least. The magic wouldn't allow him to leave. As he returned to his home and settled down on the bearskin rug in front of his fire, he wondered at what to do.

Maybe he could send a friend to check up on her?

/*\

Thrakka was pleased with her progress. Dar'thul had agreed to her request much easier than she had anticipated. Though he had long since left, she still found herself mulling over it.

She sat in the plush chair in front of her fire, the smoke wafting softly through the little chimney. Her brother liked to tease her for enjoying soft things. Plush furs, elven silks, and the enchanted wool blanket she now pulled over her lap. Though the desert was relentlessly hot during the day, it got so very cold at night. She enjoyed her comfort items.

Thrakka had gotten some news. Though the horrific visions had ceased for the time being, she was still concerned. Her nightmares were still viscerally imprinted in her mind. When she looked at Dar'thul now she no longer saw her kind, strong, and arrogant brother. She saw a man who had her friends' blood on his hands, his chest, his tusks. She supposed the paranoia might fade with time, the further away the visions got from the present. All the same, she still felt it best to maintain distance between them.

It was fortuitous then, that she'd gotten this letter. As she bundled herself up and plucked the parchment from the small table beside her, she looked over it once more just to be sure. Indeed, Kivona was returning home. Kivona had something of a difficult history with the Shatterdark family. She had been smitten with Dar'thul for a while, and for a while Dar'thul had been interested in her. All that had ended when the war broke out in Draenor, when they both had to go to fight the draenei at opposite ends of the continent. They simply grew apart. Technically, it hadn't ended badly between them and Thrakka knew that Kivona was still unmated.

It was right then that a brief splash of color caught her eye. A red embroidered signature on her blanket. It had been sewn with the utmost care. The magic emanating from it was warm, comforting, and kind. If Thrakka's plan worked, Veralia would be entirely heartbroken. It wasn't her wish to cause the elf pain, but it also wasn't her wish to watch Veralia die. A broken heart was better than a broken spine. A broken heart could heal, could love again. If the forsaken were to be believed, a corpse could do neither of those things.

Veralia was so fragile, both physically and emotionally. This would wreck her. While Dar'thul rekindled his lost love, Thrakka would have to retreat behind the scenes to pick up the pieces. It had taken Veralia almost a year to let Dar'thul court her. Though it had been months she was still leery of letting him into her house. Even Thrakka was sometimes not allowed in. She had such immense trust issues, likely borne of her profession, and Thrakka knew that this would only make it worse. Veralia might not court again for a very long time after this betrayal, when Thrakka had turned grey at the earliest. Elves were awfully long-lived after all. Thrakka clutched the blanket just a bit closer, the ever-present scent of wildflowers emanating off the enchanted cloth.

_Forgive me Veralia, _she thought, _I promise it's for your own good. I'll help you find someone else; I won't let you be alone. I'm sorry you ever met Dar'thul. _

/*\

Veralia flopped down onto her new bed. She had made amazing time. It had still been daylight by the time she'd finished moving all her things over. She'd done it all in one day, before the dusk would allow her stalker to see where she was going. Though she still had immense amounts of unpacking to do, she felt just that much safer. The relief was such that she was able to muster the energy to leave and get herself the new bed she wanted; a full two sizes bigger. It had been nothing to translocate it, and now all she had to do was put on the new covers.

This new house was nice. The bedroom was three times the size of that of her little house out in the country. She had so much more room for her books. She would need to purchase more shelves, but she wouldn't have to store any of them in crates any longer. The walls gave way to large windows, the red curtains wafting in the evening breeze. The house was on the upper level of the city, so the moon and stars glittered through, appearing so much closer than they really were.

She had space for all her interesting trinkets and knick-knacks. The living space was large enough to have both rugs and tables. She might even be able to fit in a harp. There was space in her kitchen for more elaborate cooking. Her bathroom had an enormous tub, much better than the tiny little bucket of a thing in her old home.

There were plenty of silver linings to be had in this new arrangement. That was what she told herself as she placed the final touches on her bed, flattening out the sheets and arranging the pillows, she remembered at the last second. Though she didn't think Redoran knew where she was, she still wanted the imps to keep watch. Just to be sure.

The noise by the road wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be. That said it was growing dark and all the citizens were returning home. Soon enough, there would be no one on the streets. Just her, the windows, and the moon.

As she settled down to sleep, Veralia glared at the box on the night table. She hadn't wanted to take the risk that Redoran could be tracking her through the letters with void magic. She also couldn't just leave them in the old house either. If something happened, she needed evidence. She wasn't sure how well the charm on the box would hold up, but she hoped. She needed to know they were there, just to be sure she wasn't driving herself crazy.

Still she couldn't rest. She lay there beneath the covers wide awake. She'd thought that all the physical work of moving her entire household would have tired her enough to get some rest, but that didn't seem to be the case. As the moonlight shone in her through the window, her mind raced. Though she was physically comfortable in the cushion of her mattress, she couldn't seem to find a decent position. These last few days had been terrifying.

She wished that Dar'thul was with her. There had been a small handful of nights when he'd stayed with her. When he'd let her snuggle into his side and kiss her to sleep. She always woke in the morning feeling warm and entirely too comfortable. Those were the mornings that she didn't want the sun to come up or hear the birds sing. She just wanted the night to last forever, so she could sleep in what she knew to be absolute safety.

Now she was cold. No matter how far she pulled the covers up, she was cold. No matter how many times she got up to get another blanket, she felt frozen. No matter how much she tried to escape the light of the moon by burying herself beneath cloth and fur, all she felt was weight. No warmth.

She squeezed her eyes shut, commanding rest to come. The imps stood guard at each window. Nothing was working. Her mind drifted, and though Redoran haunted the back of her mind a pleasant memory suddenly came to the forefront.

_She had known Dar'thul for about a week. _

_She liked him well enough. He seemed nice, and Thrakka was her friend. If her brother was even half as honorable as she was, then Veralia figured they'd get along just fine. It helped that he wasn't exactly ugly. Each time she saw him, he smiled at her. It made for a very nice feeling. _

_Finally, after that one week had ended, he had asked if he could accompany her on an outing. Just the two of them. She had smiled for him but politely refused. She remembered that her heart had not completely healed from Redoran's betrayal just yet, but that wasn't something she was willing to explain to someone she'd only known for seven days. _

_Fel, it wasn't something she'd even explained to Thrakka and they'd survived Northrend together. _

_He had taken the rejection well, but still he persisted. Once each month she could expect him to pay her a visit at her house and try again, all the way up until the war returned. Those visits had become so consistent, so reliable, that she'd come to look forward to them. She wasn't sure when exactly it was that she could think about love again without Redoran coming to mind, but it was sometime around the final three visits Dar'thul paid her. She knew that much, and ever since their first outing together she could feel her affection for him grow more each time she saw him. _

It was with this train of thought that Veralia drifted off.

/*\

Dar'thul considered his predicament carefully. He knew that if he told Thrakka why he wanted to break his promise, she most certainly would not acquiesce. If anything, she'd watch him even more closely, and that was the last thing he wanted. It also didn't help that he wasn't sure if his other friends in Razor Hill could be trusted. They had been rather vocal about their opinions on his relationship with Veralia. He knew that almost all of his friends heavily questioned his romantic decisions as of late, and it certainly wouldn't help for them to see Veralia as even weaker than they already perceived her.

But then there was one person he could send word to. He loathed to contact Tarellis for any reason. Was it worth the trouble?

_Veralia was so distracted that she couldn't even steer Dar'thul,_ he said to himself,_ and she'd only had a few sips of wine. She can be spacey but not to such an extent. _

Even Kro'gash had noticed. The wolf had whined for just a moment, concerned for his master's friend it seemed. Dar'thul had agreed. Her distraction had almost led to a nasty accident the other night. The bird had squawked in alarm as it stepped forward and off the side of the road. Had Dar'thul been any slower in his intervention, Veralia would have taken a tumble down the side of the small hill. She had been staring straight ahead.

Yes. Dealing with Tarellis would be worth it. Infuriating, but worth it. He grumbled as he sat down in his bedroom, pulling parchment from the small cabinet next to his bed. He had to fight with the drawer for a moment. It was an old, rickety cabinet. In fact, everything in his bedroom was. Thrakka had told him on more than one occasion that his garbage bed frame was likely the reason his back hurt so much every morning.

It was a menial issue.

He chose his words carefully. He knew that Tarellis Suntrail didn't have much love for orcs, Dar'thul particularly. The orc couldn't say he liked the elf either, but he'd bet anything that Tarellis would be more than happy to check up on Veralia. He might not give Dar'thul updates, but he'd feel better knowing that someone – even that piece of kodo shit – was checking in on her. For some reason, he didn't think Thrakka herself would be up to the task.

As he finished up the letter and sealed it into an envelope Dar'thul sighed. He leaned back in his chair as his quill dripped ink onto the rickety desk that barely fit into the corner across from his bed. He glared out the window, watching the moon rise higher and higher into the sky. He wondered what Veralia was doing right then. Sleeping, he hoped. She clearly wasn't in a good enough state of mind to be doing any research.

With that thought in his head, he left the house. Virtually no one was out on the streets that night, but the magic mailboxes were accessible at all hours of the day. It took him approximately ten minutes to get the letter delivered, and at least half of that time was spent glaring at the envelope and questioning if he really wanted to send it.

Tarellis was going to love this, and that made him hate it even more.

As he stomped back towards his house, he spied a familiar face. Zelani looked drunk. At the very least she seemed to be stumbling through the street and grasping at nothing with her three-fingered hand. Her blue skin looked ashen in the moonlight, and her hair was a mess. She looked like she'd been in a fight. There was a nasty gash in her cheek, and she was moaning in what he presumed to be pain.

Immediately Dar'thul went to help. He got the woman to her feet, and he could feel concern muddling his brow. What the fel had happened to her? As soon as he touched her, her glare shot up at him. She looked ready to throw her fist when she realized it was him. She smiled.

"Oh Dar'thul!" she slurred ever so slightly, "What brings ya out here ta'night?"

"I was just putting something in the mailbox," he said, "What happened to you? Did you get into a fight?"

"Oh, it was jus' a tussle with an old flame. Xaliri needs to learn her place!" she growled. Her gaze grew more focused. "Ya know, speaking of old flames, I heard an orc lady named Kivona was coming to town. I feel like you mentioned that name before."

Dar'thul's heart stopped. Judging by Zelani's smug and delighted face, she knew it too. Immediately she demanded Dar'thul start talking. She wanted to know all about Kivona. She asked what Kivona looked like, what clan she was from, what color her hair was. Finally, as Dar'thul got the drunken troll to her house and banged on the door for her sister to come retrieve her, she asked the question that would have gotten anyone else beaten to a pulp.

"Why did you deem her unworthy?"

Dar'thul had to remind himself that Zelani was drunk multiple times. It helped that her sister was timely in answering the door. Dar'thul had mentally checked out by that point. He wasn't interested in Zelani's uncontrollable giggling or her sister's adamant apologies. He could hear the scathing tone in Timara's voice as she scolded Zelani, but he didn't hear the words themselves.

Kivona wasn't unworthy. Never had been, never would be. Yet the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn't sure he wanted to see her. He wasn't prepared. There had been too much left unsaid between them, and now that he had moved on, he wasn't sure it should come back to light.

Perhaps she had someone too? He hoped so, and he hoped that she was coming back solely to visit Thrakka. He had nothing to say to her, and he figured it was the same on her part. A thought struck him. Maybe it was a good thing that she was visiting. She was one of Thrakka's few friends. Since an unforeseen visitor would be arriving, that might give him some leeway to break the magic she'd cast on his promise. After all, he'd made it under the impression that Thrakka would have no one to help her should the nightmares come back. Zelani was nice, but she wasn't exactly reliable. For all her faults, Kivona was loyal to those she cared about.

He could be assured of Thrakka's well-being in his absence. Suddenly, he found himself feeling good about this whole thing. It would be the perfect excuse to leave. Then he found himself swearing as he realized something else.

If only he'd known sooner. He wouldn't have sent that letter to Tarellis.

/*\

A strange man wandered the countryside.

He had long since become something else, something not of the world he'd been born into. He was a being of darkness, of the void. No longer did he get to be a part of the light.

He stared at the little house in the field with no small amount of frustration. He'd gone to check in on her, to see just how much his communications had affected her. He'd gone in only to find the place empty.

_Empty. _Just the night before everything had looked normal. She'd never been a tidy person in all the time he'd known her, and that was a trait that hadn't changed. There were books stacked in small piles on the floor. Her desk was drowned in paper, miscellaneous notes that didn't go together. Her clothes were often stuffed into drawers rather than folded neatly. Then always, always there was at least one imp she had sorting through the mess because she simply didn't want to deal with it herself.

Now all those things had simply vanished. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to punch a hole through the wall. He couldn't leave that kind of physical mark on the house. Though she was gone, there would undeniably be another showing up soon. If there was even the slightest fault in the house, then whatever new tenant she'd picked up would grow disinterested. He'd have to go through the trouble of finding her again, and the time that would take would be enough for her to bolster her defenses. He couldn't let that happen. He had to get her our of Quel'thalas.

His fingers nervously plucked at the chain around his neck. She had looked exactly as he remembered. Her hair had grown longer, and she had learned a few new tricks, but she was still very much herself. He let his eyes glance down at the ring he wore around his neck. It hadn't been the fanciest, but it had suited her quite well.

She'd never been a fan of diamonds, but she had always enjoyed gems. Specifically, green gems. He'd had to order the emerald from a jeweler in Stormwind, an especially difficult task as his people had joined the Horde by that point. He'd had to call in multiple favors, favors he could no longer use and had infinitely more need for now. He thought he'd been done. He'd thought that he would spend his youth happily, adventure through the world with his wife as they fought monsters together.

He stared into the marquise, the sadness welling up in his heart yet again. He still didn't understand the ending of it all. He hadn't understood her rage, her abhorrence, her complete and utter hypocrisy. He didn't understand why she'd thrown the ring back in his face. He'd thought about leaving it there with the dress and the book, but he was too scared of what she'd do to it. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she threw it away.

He let the ring drop back under his tunic, safe against his skin. He glared around at the empty rooms, looking for anything she might have missed. Anything he might be able to use to track her. As always, she had been meticulous. He couldn't find a misplaced trinket or even a small piece of jewelry. It seemed that even the dust had been vanquished from the floor, the walls, the counters. There was absolutely no trace of her left in this house, and so it was worthless to him.

Thus, his current predicament.

He let his gaze flicker to the road, where even now a drunken couple stumbled along. They seemed to be having a nice time, the two women were fawning over each other. He watched for a moment, catching a glimpse of the insignias on their tunics. A pair of Silvermoon guards, wandering around after their shifts had ended. That was when a thought struck him.

It was unlikely that she'd have been allowed in any of the other major cities given her work. In addition, there was no way she would ever leave Quel'thalas. She loved her home country too much to go elsewhere. She had clearly decided she was unsafe in the more rural towns and so that left her with only one place to go.

He knew that getting into the city wasn't a possibility, not right now. He'd have to plan it meticulously. He'd need to figure out the routes the guards took, the blind spots where he'd be able to sneak in. Ever since the sacking of Silvermoon at Arthas's hands, the blood elves had very finely tuned the way their surveillance worked.

As the women made their way further into the wilderness found himself walking the opposite direction. It would be a challenge to get into the city, but he could do it. And when he did, he'd find her again.

**/*\**

**I'm having fun with this. **

**-Statyck**


End file.
